


Unhealthy Attitudes About the Need for Sleep

by Walpger



Category: Psych
Genre: Case Fic, Coffee, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, I Tried, I don't know how detective work goes, I'm Bad At Tagging, Interpret how you would like, Karen Vick is a Mom, Lassie and Jules deserve the world, Lassie's in denial about a lot of things, Protective Chief Vick, Protective Lassiter, Self-Doubt, Sleep Deprivation, Still don't know if I ship it, a bit - Freeform, i guess?, i love my kids, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-21
Updated: 2019-06-21
Packaged: 2020-05-16 01:00:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19307434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Walpger/pseuds/Walpger
Summary: Lassiter slid into the seat across from her, as was their routine, took a sip of coffee, and opened a file that O’Hara had placed in front of him. It was going to be a long night.They ran out of coffee by 4:00.Some BS'd police procedures, Lassie and Jules working all night on a case, and everything that follows because I am a sucker for sleep deprived cop kiddos.





	Unhealthy Attitudes About the Need for Sleep

**Author's Note:**

> I got the title from googling "working at night" because I'm so bad at titles you guys, but dang if it ain't a mood. Anyways, hope you enjoy!

“Carlton?” 

The Head Detective glanced at the clock on his desk before meeting his partner’s gaze; it was almost 11:00. Carlton suppressed a sigh as he raised an eyebrow at O’Hara, “Yeah?” 

“The Chief said she wants us out of here.” 

Lassiter glanced towards Chief Vick’s office to see her looking at them, an accusatory eyebrow raised. He could have sworn she mouthed “ _Go home”_  at him, but that couldn’t have been right. Carlton turned back to his partner and glanced at the stack of files in her arms. He looked down at the files spread across his own desk and cursed quietly.  

“My house or yours?” O’Hara’s voice was weary. They had stayed late at the station late for nearly a week trying to find a lead on a case, and Carlton knew both he and his partner were already tired. But O’Hara’s proposition made sense. The longer they waited, the longer it took them to figure something out, the more likely it was that their killer would get away from them. It was unlikely that their killer would strike again, but Lassiter craved immediate and relentless justice. 

“Mine,” Carlton said simply. “We’ll be needing the table for this one.” 

The two detectives had established this system about three years into their partnership. If they needed to work overtime, and Vick wouldn’t let them stay at the station (“ _Don’t argue, Carlton. I need you in top condition; you as well, O’Hara. Go get some rest.”)_  they would drive to one of their places and keep working together. Lassiter's place of residence was home to a massive table that a distant relative had given to him in their will. It was their go-to if there was a lot of different pieces and parts to a case, and they needed to spread out files and evidence. 

Like tonight. 

Lassiter began organizing everything he might need into a somewhat manageable stack; case files, pictures, statements, interviews, reports. It was better to bring everything and not risk needing to come back to the station; Vick couldn’t find out about their late-night investigative work. They’d agreed on that fact quite some time ago. 

Having packed up everything, Lassiter grabbed his suit jacket and his keys, not even bothering to put the jacket on as he led the way out of the station. O’Hara followed dutifully behind him.  

Carlton didn’t miss the little wave his partner sent towards the Chief, and he couldn’t help but shake his head, though he was fighting a smile. O’Hara was an extremely pleasant person, always smiling at people and trying to be friendly. It had irked him for a long time, the constant ray of sunshine-happiness she always seemed to possess. If anyone asked him, he would say it still did.  

Carlton Lassiter had become quite a good liar since becoming Head Detective.  

He held the door for his partner as they exited the station, entering the slightly chilly Santa Barbara night. He walked next to her, his longer strides matched perfectly by her shorter, faster steps, until they reached his car. He slid into the driver's seat and O’Hara took the passenger seat. It was practically hers at this point, no one else ever used it. He started the car and maneuvered out of the parking lot and on to the fairly empty road.  

The drive was silent, for the most part. O’Hara started humming just before Carlton pulled up to a drive-through coffee shop, but he didn’t totally notice until she stopped to tell him what she wanted. Of course, he already knew; she ordered it every time, but it had become a habit for her to tell him. 

Lassiter placed thier order and drove to the window. The bored-looking teenager working tried to make conversation while he waited for his coworkers to make their drinks, “You guys have big plans tonight? It’s a bit late for a coffee run.” 

“Work,” Lassiter muttered, not at all interested in small-talking this boy. O’Hara slapped his arm and gave him a stern look that reminded him a little too much of his mother. He groaned in protest, but forced a little pleasantry into his voice, “Sorry. We’ve got a big project we need to get done.” Lassiter smiled bitterly as he handed the kid some cash, “See, someone was murdered, and the killer is going to get away if we don’t figure this out in a timely manner. Who knows? He might kill someone else, he might stalk some people, get a coffee from a drive through; he’s roaming free!” 

So, he’d given up on the whole friendly thing towards the end there, but he was tired and really couldn’t be bothered. O’Hara heaved a disapproving sigh, and the boy paled and quickly handed their coffee to Lassiter.  

“Oh. Well, good-uhm-good luck sir. Have a nice night.” 

Lassiter drove off. 

O’Hara scolded him for a good five minutes before falling silent and sipping at her coffee. Carlton listened with as much patience as he could muster, but he had to admit he was grateful when his partner resigned to drinking her coffee. He didn’t have the energy to argue, so his ego was silently taking the hit. 

He could feel his mind attempting to spiral, tapping into the vein of sleep deprived self-doubt that he would deny existed until he died. Carlton knew he was an apathetic douchebag a lot of the time; several events in the past years had brought that to light. And for some reason, it was starting to get to him. Only after days of awful sleep or a single night of endless alcohol, mind you, but it did bother him.  _Stupid ass sleep deprivation,_  the Head Detective shook his head to clear his rebellious mind, and pressed his foot harder on the gas, pushing the speed limit to avoid thinking.  

The detectives arrived at Lassiter’s house a short while later and hauled all their files and pictures and evidence into the somewhat small household. It was just before 12:00. Carlton removed the dark blue tablecloth that was resting over the top of his table and began spreading their documents across the wooden surface. 

O’Hara settled herself into her usual spot, the far-left chair facing his kitchen window. Carlton imagined she liked the concept of being able to look outside, even though it was dark, and Lassiter had his blinds closed. He thought it was weird, but he wasn’t about to take away her routine placement after all this time.  

She deserved to sit wherever the hell she please, coming out here to work when she could just as easily have gone home to get some much-needed sleep. Carlton grumbled about the fact just about every time they pulled one of these all-night working stunts.  _(“You really should be getting some sleep, O’Hara. You can crash on the couch if you want.” “Shut up, Carlton.”)_ At this point, though, he’d accepted that his partner was just as invested in solving these crimes as he was, and only slightly less stubborn. All his slightly-concerned prodding and nudging wouldn’t change her mind. 

Lassiter slid into the seat across from her, as was their routine, took a sip of coffee, and opened a file that O’Hara had placed in front of him. It was going to be a long night.  

They ran out of coffee by 4:00.  

The stuff from the coffee shop had been gone  _long_  before that, and Carlton had started burning through his home-brewed reserves. They both needed it. It was 3:37 when Lassiter discovered the horrid truth. He momentarily felt his throat contract, his eyes burning, but he clenched his fists by his side until he could breathe normally again. 

They hadn’t made any progress and now they were out of coffee. He briefly considered driving out to buy more, but he realized there were several flaws in that plan.  

1) The world was sort of fuzzy, and Carlton was pretty sure he shouldn’t be driving. 

2) O’Hara wasn’t faring much better. 

3) It was 3:30 in the morning and no one would be open to serve some desperate detectives more caffeine.  

_Damn it._  

Lassiter returned to the table where O’Hara was slumped over some photographs, gazing at them with glazed eyes as she typed the “H” key on her laptop endlessly.  

Carlton sighed and retook his place across from her, glancing down at an interview report with the victim’s uncle. He had a solid alibi; he’d been working at his job at some sort of mechanic shop. They’d called and gotten confirmation from the guy’s boss, but there was something keeping Lassiter from moving on. Maybe it was nothing, but the detective could have sworn there was something off about the guy. Feelings didn’t make a case, though, contrary to popular belief  _(Damn it, Spencer)._ He ran a hand through his hair and continued searching through reports, statements, evidence, the internet, for something that didn’t fit.  

About an hour later, after talking to O’Hara, searching the internet, whining about the lack of coffee, and slapping himself several times to stay awake, Carlton saw his partner sit up a little straighter. Lassiter was instantly alert, “Got something?” 

O’Hara spun her laptop to face him, “The person we talked to on the phone was a dude.” 

Carlton assumed she was talking about the uncle’s boss, “Yeah, so?” 

“Look!” O’Hara pointed to the screen, “The manager for the shift the uncle was working? Was a woman. Rachel Gross.” 

Carlton stared at the screen.Oh, thank God. They had a lead. 

“It’s not huge, but it’s something,” O’Hara waited for her partner’s response. 

“Nice work, O’Hara,” he congratulated her, feeling a bit more energy seeping into him as he planned their next move. God bless adrenaline. He stood, starting to gather their things and noticed his partner stumble as she stood from her seat. He paused, took in his partner’s tired eyes, messy hair, slumped shoulders.   

Damn it.  

“We’ll call this in, let the station know what we’ve got.” 

His partner gave him a baffled look, tilting her head, “Aren’t we going in? The Chief doesn’t usually mind it if we come in early, especially if we have new information.” She was committed, no one could deny that. He had to approach this very carefully. He was exhausted and, unfortunately, that meant he was prone to sentiment. Had to keep this logical.  

“Neither of us are fit to drive, O’Hara. We can call the station; someone can check up on the uncle’s workplace and talk to Ms. Gross. They can call us if they need us.” Carlton definitely didn’t miss the flash of desperate relief that crossed his partner’s face as he spoke. “Yeah, you need sleep,” he chuckled slightly as O’Hara tried to clear her face of emotion. 

“I could have gone in,” She insisted, though the yawn that cut off her last word contradicted her claim. Carlton rolled his eyes and went to get some spare blankets from his hallway closet. 

“Couch is all yours. I’ll call this in,” He tossed the blankets at his partner as she stumbled into the living room and collapsed on his sofa, mumbling a quiet “thanks partner” as she passed. 

Lassiter checked the time before pulling out his phone and dialing the SBPD. It was almost 5:00; the Chief might be in her office. Might as well call her directly, rather than the poor sap that was working the night phone. Lassiter paced the kitchen as his phone rand, trying not to focus on the fact that his hands were shaking. 

The Chief picked up after three rings, and Carlton couldn’t help feeling relieved. He really hadn’t wanted to talk to some semi-acquaintance, who was tired and unfamiliar with the Head Detective’s eccentricities. Or worse, was scared of him and blubbered about like a fool instead of actually taking note of the new information. Chief Vick was familiar, and that was—Lassiter stopped himself from thinking the word “comforting” and mentally scolded himself as the Chief spoke. 

“Detective Lassiter,” she sounded tired, but she continued talking. “I was about to call you. Mr. Spencer called me about a vision. Something about the uncle’s alibi?” 

Carlton almost screamed. All of that work, all freaking night, and that no good, mother fu— 

“Carlton?” 

Lassiter took several deep breaths. Yelling at the Chief wouldn’t do him any good, a voice in his head told him. It sounded a lot like O’Hara.  _Damn it._  

“That’s actually why I called you,” he said as pleasantly as he could. “That guy we talked to? To confirm the uncle’s alibi? Wasn’t on duty for that shirt. Someone named Rachel Gross was.” 

He could almost hear the Chief’s mind working in the pause that followed, but her follow up question was not any of the ones he was expecting. 

“Detective, where are you right now?” 

Carlton felt his heart jump, “At my house. I went home like you asked, I swear. Do you want us to come in?” 

“That depends. Where’s Detective O’Hara?” 

Shit. “On my couch?” 

He heard the Chief sigh, “Did either of you sleep last night?” 

Carlton thought back. O’Hara had nudged him awake at around 2:00 after he’d passed out for ten minutes. She’d given him a sympathetic smile and the offer of more coffee, and Carlton had kept working. So, technically, yes. But somehow Lassiter didn’t think ten minutes of unintentional unconsciousness would count in the eyes of the Chief. Carlton opened his mouth to respond to the question, but Chief Vick cut him off.  

“Get some rest, Detective. If I see you at the station today, there will be consequences.” 

Lassiter nodded, although she couldn’t see him. 

“Same goes for O’Hara. I expect to see you both  _well rested_  at the station tomorrow morning.” 

“Understood. Thank you, Chief.” 

The line went dead, and Lassiter ran a hand through his hair, exhausted brain latching onto the fact that Spencer had somehow beaten him. Again. With absolutely no effort. Again. Carlton let out a decidedly exasperated sigh; he was too damn tired for this. 

The detective finished gathering up the scattered pages on his tables, compiling them into a more cohesive group as his mind attempted to spiral into a dark oblivion.  He managed to keep his thoughts in the ‘so pissed at Spencer he couldn’t speak’ zone, which he called a win, considering the circumstances. After he’d cleaned the table and checked in on O’Hara, who was sleeping peacefully buried in blankets, Carlton dragged himself into his room and crumpled onto his bed. 

He woke three hours later to a rumpled Junior Detective shaking his shoulder, perched on the edge of his bed.  

“Carlton?” Her voice was soft, as if she was trying to be gentle. Or maybe she was attempting to preemptively diminish his anger; who could tell for sure? 

The Head Detective groaned and rolled to face her, forcing his eyes open. She gave him an apologetic smile, “Sorry, partner.” He blinked at her. “Are we supposed to come into work? I know you said you’d call it in so we could sleep a little, but it’s 8:30. And I know you hate being late, so I came and got you as soon as I realized what time it was.” 

Carlton rolled away again. His stupid, exhausted brain managed to comprehend that her words were rather sweet, but he wasn’t about to give her the satisfaction of telling her that, no matter how tired he was, “Chief doesn’t want us coming in ‘til tomorrow. Go back to sleep.” 

“You got it, partner,” he could hear the laugh in her voice as she stood from his bed. A thought occurred to Carlton as he listened to her quiet footsteps retreating towards his bedroom door. 

“O’Hara?” 

“Yeah?” The footsteps stopped.  

“You’re not planning on going home, are you?” There was a pause and Carlton hoped to God she wasn’t smiling, though he wasn’t about to turn around and check. 

“No, I wasn’t.” Damn it. She was definitely smiling. He felt his face heat up. 

“I don’t really care, either way,” he snapped. “I just don’t want to deal with the paperwork if you crash my car and die.” Sure. That was convincing, Carlton lied to himself.  

“How noble of you,” O’Hara laughed and resumed her course back to the couch, tossing a “sorry I woke you” over her shoulder as she left the room.  

Carlton glared at the wall in front of him and shoved O’Hara from his mind. His damn partner was getting quite friend-y, but... Carlton let his eyes close. He’d deal with that dilemma later. 

 

 


End file.
